


polku

by stormklinge



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, M/M, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 16:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21211868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormklinge/pseuds/stormklinge
Summary: Before he was Volk, he was Six. Before he was Six, he was somebody else entirely.





	1. alku

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! ♡♡♡♡ This is my first fic ever and it is translated from Finnish! I will try to be quick to update it! Thank you so so much for reading! ♡♡♡♡♡

The smell of the burning vehicle and the taste of blood and dirt is still in his mouth, lips caked in dry saliva.

He has no idea how long it has been. It may have been days. Weeks? Hours, maybe? Who knows? He doesn't.

The tap of a stick against the wire of the mesh cage he is crammed into, the one that takes up the back of the truck. A flashlight hits his face, and the stick slides through the bars and jabs viciously at his side, his stomach, his face. He winces and tries to curl in on himself, protect his wounded underbelly like a reptile at the mercy of a marauding raven.

"Alive?"

"Yeah. Seems like it."

Another vicious jab. He wheezes as his jolt nudges a cracked rib.

"For now."

The cage is pulled open, and arms reach through the gap, grabbing at his arms, his clothes. Not gentle with his wounds as they drag him toward the opening so his head lolls out and hangs through the gap, falling backwards as his gaze is turned toward the night sky.

Something heavy and padded with a lining once soft, now dirty and matted and hard in places, reeking of canine, is secured around his throat.

"This one'll be Six." 


	2. häkki

Her voice is a desperate muffle before he is fully awake. 

"Six? Six, sweetie? Are you okay?"

_ Six? What? Who?... where? _

He pushes himself to his hands and knees and groans. He empties his stomach onto the dirt streaked floor and he hears a cringe from somewhere beside him, followed by a feminine laugh reminiscent of silver bells.

"Better out than in?" 

He looks toward the sound of the voice. She's there, smiling with a warm comfort crook to her scarred brow that seems unwitting as she leans against the twisted ringlock wire of her makeshift prison.

He tries to sit up and groans, returning to his hands and knees at the wave of nausea that overtakes him.

Beside him, she tuts like a mother at a sick child leaving their bed to play in the snow.

"No, no," she scolds gently, "Be still. You're still pretty roughed up."

He rolls onto his back against the filthy floor, "Where…?"

She laughs, but her face is partway distressed, a nervous laugh, "The cages. Well, not the big ones. Just the little ones while we wait for the chairs."

He stares questioningly. She laughs that same nervous little laugh.

"He puts us in the chairs. The ones in the dark room. Shows us things, the wolf pictures," she gestures vaguely with one hand, " The chairs you sit in before he tests you?"

He furrows his brow at her, "Tests?"

She looks confused for a long moment, burrowing her brow in mirror to his own confusion, leaning closer as if she has just heard something unbelievable.

"The tests," she says slowly, as if speaking to someone who is freshly awoken and not yet fully aware, "You don't remember?"

He doesn't and he shakes his head to tell her so; she balks at him, unable to believe it. 

"But…" She trails off uncertainly, shaking her head, "It's been a week."

He doesn't have time to react; to look at her like she's lying or confused, he remembers - barely - getting into that accident _ last night _, it is the last thing he remembers before waking up now.

Something slams into the cage beside him, on his other side, and he is fumbling to back up against the wall farthest from the sound. She doesn't flinch at the flurry of movement, doesn't move away as he is suddenly clustered so close to her, still within his own cage.

"Don't matter how long you been here. You ain't gonna be here much longer."

The source of the sound, of the snarling hiss of a voice, is the occupant of another cage and probably many cages before this one, bearing the appearance of a hardened criminal who lives by the passion of harming others. His gaze is filled with rage and mania as he grins at them both, his scarred knuckles flexing with the appearance of walnuts as they squeeze the wire of his cage. 

"You lasted this long, Six, but you just wait until it comes down to just us two."

The woman scoffs at his posturing and folds her arms, shaking her head, "Shut up, One. Nobody was talking to you. Nobody _ wants _ to talk to you."

The man - One? - flares up at her words like a wildfire at a breath of oxygen. He's suddenly twisting on the spot, eyeing the woman with the same manic rage as before, huge chest heaving like a great set of bellows. The wire strains in his grip.

"Oh, you too, Three," his words are spat out between gritted teeth, "You just wait. I'll skin you both. You just wait til we're in the maze together, you won't even have to wait for the wolves. _ I'll _be the one chewing your bones."

The woman - Three - just scoffs a second time, ignoring the threat and fixing her gaze on him once more.

"Ignore him, Six," she tells him, "He talks big but it's all hot air."

That sets One off. He's suddenly cursing and slamming his hands into the wire of his cage, shouting and pacing back and forth like a monster contained. Three rolls her eyes, completely unaffected by the display of aggression.

Six… that… that must be his own name….

He - Six - watches as One continues to prowl his cage and his eyes track him but drift, spying another cage. This cage contains a small and thin man, almost sickly. He scratches at his arms and chatters his teeth as he mutters to himself.

Three notices Six staring at the man. 

"That's Two," she explains, expression pained by distraught sympathy, "Not much to say about him. I heard he looks like that because he was exposed to some strange weed the Father's sister is playing with."

Six struggles to speak but manages, "Weed?"

Three gives a short shrug, "Don't know. Some weird plant, a flower or something They got some of the new inductees out in the fields in the Henbane picking them like lima beans. Two was one of them. He was sent here after he bit one of the workers."

Six stares.

"Yeah, sounds like a zombie movie right?" She gives another nervous chuckle, "But it's true. From what Jacob said, it sounds like he laid into them like a rabid wolverine."

Two looks up at them both. Six is sure he sees as much of the inside of his eyelids as the outside, as they sag around the sad watery globes.

Three gestures for him to listen and points in the direction of two more cages. 

The first Six notices contains a huge and bearded man, thickest and rugged, something pulled from the lore of Paul Bunyan and rolled in filth and blood and scars. He glances toward Three and Six and nods gently, before returning his gaze to the floor. Idly, his hands do naught.

The other cage contains another man. He is utterly ordinary besides a few scars on his exposed arms and face, but he is otherwise utterly unremarkable and somehow this makes him seem odd and out of place in this utterly odd situation.

"The big guy is Five," Three explains, pointing from within her cage, "And that's Four. They both worked at the lumber yard. Four was their legal representative and apparently, Brother John had him sent here on an old grudge. I guess he didn't expect he would last so long."

Six watches as Four looks up. They meet each other's eye. Four begins crying.

◇

They sit there in their wire cages for what feels like a week. Three fills the silence and Six remains silent and just listens. One rages. Four cries some more.

Three probes Six for his story. She seems to catalogue all of their histories away. Six realises he knows nothing about her, she has explained nothing. He suspects this is her goal.

Six wonders how old her scars are. The one on her brow seems years old.

"I know they pulled you from a car crash," she murmurs like they are playing a guessing game to pass time on a road trip, "They said that when you first came in. But you never told me anything after that. I've been asking you for the whole week while we sit in our cages out in the yard."

Six gestures to his current wounds. He draws a blank on the last week that has apparently passed; as far as he can tell, these wounds are from the wreck and he has only been here for a single day.

Three nods to his bandaged arms, "From the maze. I heard you did pretty good."

One slams the wire of his cage and fumes quietly.

"Ignore him," Three reminds him.

They wait for another eternity and Three seems content to talk some more about anything and everything besides herself, it seems. She is simultaneously an open book and a dammed river, somehow sharing everything and nothing.

Six listens and learns as she speaks. 

The door to wherever they are being held slams open and two men enter. They are wild of both beard and hair, one dressed in a dirty beige sweater and cargo pants, the other in a long black coat. They both bear the mark of Eden's Gate in various places, from the red paint on the pale sweater, to the tattoo ink on the forehead of the man in the coat.

Three bristles as they stride over to their cages, and Six feels a sort of sympathetic panic, his body tensing as the men loom over them. 

"Brother Jacob wants you all through the maze today," Black-coat announces, looking over the prisoners in their cramped prisons, "I think we'll run you through in order. One will go through first."

One seems almost excited for whatever is coming next, smiling wildly in a bare of teeth.


End file.
